


lazy day

by nobodysusername



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sick Enjolras, Sickfic, this is just fluff for a friend im such trash lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodysusername/pseuds/nobodysusername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire shifts slightly, fingers curling into the soft fabric of Enjolras’ sweater and clinging more tightly. Enjolras watches this adorable display, awed, as he tries to think of a way to reach the tissue box on the coffee table without waking up his boyfriend. After a few long moments of internal struggle, he decides to suffer in silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lazy day

Grantaire is asleep in Enjolras’ lap. This has to be illegal.

(After careful deliberation, Enjolras concludes that he is morally obligated to pet Grantaire’s hair.)

He’s going to do it, he is _going_ to _do_ it.

He strokes through Grantaire’s unruly dark curls, gentle and careful not to stir the other man from his slumber—no doubt due to sleepless nights in the haze that winter finals are known to induce.

 _Until_.

Enjolras only barely manages to stifle his sneeze with the sleeve of his sweater, the thought of disturbing Grantaire almost too horrifying to bear.

Grantaire shifts slightly, fingers curling into the soft fabric of Enjolras’ sweater and clinging more tightly. Enjolras watches this adorable display, awed, as he tries to think of a way to reach the tissue box on the coffee table without waking up his boyfriend. After a few long moments of internal struggle, he decides to suffer in silence.

This lasts until he sneezes again, and Grantaire shifts positions so he can look up at Enjolras, wide-eyed.

“Your sneezes are so adorable, what the fuck,” he whispers, unblinking.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, brushing the dark curls from Grantaire’s eyes. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I needed a tissue,” he says sheepishly. Then he reaches to the coffee table and takes one to blow his nose. Grantaire makes a face but doesn’t move from his spot—his spot being the entire couch, with his head resting on Enjolras’ thighs.

The movie that they had put in is still playing, so they both direct their attention to it once again, Enjolras taking up playing with Grantaire’s hair once more and Grantaire doing his best to keep his eyes open. Enjolras observes that Grantaire does not succeed in this endeavor for very long.

Eventually, Enjolras finds himself drifting off as well; he turns down the volume on the television and treats himself to the luxury of sleeping on the couch with Grantaire, despite the discomfort.

It’s glorious respite, for a few hours.

He wakes himself up with a sneezing fit far too early for anyone to be awake by choice.

Which in turn wakes up Grantaire, who rubs his eyes and blinks at Enjolras sleepily. “This is why you shouldn’t pull all-nighters for finals,” he mutters. “Your immune system sucks ass.”

Enjolras starts to protest, but is cut off by another sneeze, which is both ridiculous and disgusting. He scowls.

“Come on, you,” Grantaire nudges him, sitting up. “I’ll make breakfast, meaning I’ll heat up the Vietnamese leftovers from Thursday, and you’ll take your sorry ass to bed where I’ll meet you in five. Up and at ‘em, champ.” He’s grinning, the prick.

Still, Enjolras acquiesces, standing up and taking a moment to stretch, joints cracking, before shuffling to his and Grantaire’s bedroom.

He shucks off his jeans and puts on Grantaire’s warm sweatpants before climbing into their unmade bed and making a nest of the strewn-about covers, swathing himself in their soft plushness.

True to his word, Grantaire joins him a few minutes later with a tray laden with two glasses of orange juice and two bowls of pho.

“What about the no food policy?” Enjolras reminds him, ever the stickler.

Grantaire shakes his head. “Doesn’t apply when one of the policy upholders is sick, remember? That was the amendment you allowed me to make.” The smugness is written all over his smile, but Enjolras can’t find it in him to begrudge Grantaire. (Perhaps this cold is making him soft.)

“Fine,” he allows, scooting over to make room. Grantaire sets the tray in Enjolras’ lap and slips under the covers as well, smirking.

“Orange juice, vitamin c, I’m such a good boyfriend,” he bumps Enjolras’ shoulder and gestures for him to start eating.

Enjolras just squints at him. “There’s no arguing that, I’ll grant. But it’s six in the morning, how are you so functional?”

Grantaire’s smile only widens. “Perks of insomnia: adaptation. Come on, though, these leftovers won’t eat themselves, you know.” He takes one of the bowls and begins to eat. “It’s so good, we have to do a double date with Combeferre and Courfeyrac sometime. You know they’d love it.”

Enjolras looks at Grantaire, struck with how utterly enamored by this man he is. Then he hums an agreement, reaching to the nightstand for a tissue.

After they’ve finished eating, Grantaire kisses Enjolras’ forehead and piles their empty bowls and glasses back onto the tray, disappearing into the hall no doubt to put everything in the dishwasher like the actual saint he is.

Enjolras makes a mental note to remind Grantaire how much he is loved (most notably by Enjolras) more often.

He’ll do it later, though, because he’s still tired right now. He nestles further into the blankets, shoving his face into Grantaire’s pillow (because even with a stuffy nose, Enjolras can vaguely make out the familiar scent of Grantaire—that lovely paint smell, mixed with that of his shampoo).

At some point Grantaire must have joined him, because there’s more warmth in the bed when he stirs again. He turns to find that Grantaire is asleep beside him, fingers loosely curled around the hem of Enjolras’ sweater at the back.

Enjolras takes in the sight, smiling softly, before another violent sneeze ruins the moment. He curses his shitty immune system in the same instance that Grantaire wakes up.

“Second time today you’ve woken me up like this,” he says, bemused. “You could invest in an alarm clock for me, you know.”

Enjolras flushes, sheepish. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

Grantaire just shakes his head, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind Enjolras’ ear. “Don’t be. Did you have anything you needed to get done today?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I finished all of my work for the break already, you know that.”

“That probably contributed to you getting sick,” Grantaire rolls his eyes. “You’re such a doof, I swear.”

Enjolras smiles once again upon hearing the ill-concealed term of endearment. “Your insults have gotten weaker, lately.” He says this with affection; fighting words can be left for another day.

Grantaire just snorts, reaching out to pull Enjolras closer. “If you have nothing you need to accomplish, I can’t say I’m all too willing to relinquish possession of you.”

“Guess we’ll just have to stay in bed, then, huh?” (His throat is beginning to feel sore and he can’t really breathe through his nose, but Enjolras is content to lie in bed with Grantaire all day.)

**Author's Note:**

> comments, criticism, & kudos always appreciated and welcome!! thanks for reading!! xo


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